And She Was

Richie took this picture of me trying to get some fuzz out of my eye while modeling a...what is that, anyway?

Then I was looking for some old Talking Heads music and found this picture of Tina Weymouth. I couldn't help noticing a resemblance. I have loved the Talking Heads since I first laid ears on them, so I'm flattering myself for sure.

But, really, I want to bury the last post I did as deeply as I can. So I figured anything merited a blog post.

Anyone who shares the Eastern Seaboard with me will be able to commiserate with the ridiculous raininess of this week. I actually heard thunder a few minutes ago! Thunder in winter gives me the willies. I associate it with winter storms I've heard about but never experienced. In "On the Banks of Plum Creek," Laura and Mary and Ma and Jack are stuck inside their house for days on end while Pa hides out in a cave because he can't quite make it all the way home. I confess, I don't like those chapters. Pa makes it home okay in the end, but I sympathize way too much with the characters and hate the idea of Richie being stuck in a blizzard with no food except some Christmas Candy and sardines.

The main reason our family enjoys all the Little House books is that they put your imagination to work in a time when life required much more direct effort than it does now. I went to the grocery store yesterday and bought little cubes of frozen fresh basil. I bought a bag of frozen chicken breasts. I bought a bag of oranges. I have started thanking my lucky stars for every easy grocery store trip. Don't get me wrong; I'm also looking forward to the inevitable time when food production becomes more local. But I'm willing to bet that time will have little occasion for looking like a rock star, even a modest down-to-earth one like Tina Weymouth.

In studying news, there's little progress to note, as I've devoted most of my free time to manufacturing Christmas stuff. Or, to be more truthful, PLANNING to manufacture Christmas stuff.

This morning I voluteered at Olde Towne Medical Center - a clinic here in town that works on a sliding scale - and I got a chance to talk with the medical director there.

First of all, this guy is awesome. He's short in stature, as kind as he is loud. He talks about everything intently and in a voice that shows he's got nothing to hide. Last month, he specifically encouraged me NOT to go to medical school, since I'd have almost the same purvey in a local clinic as an NP or a PA. I don't know what to say to him, except that I am praying for strength and humility. I've thought about it a TON, and I still think MD is the best fit for me. It's actually a little painful to hear him say that because I deliberated over the career path decision for so long precisely because of the challenges he cites. Even though I'm not taking his advice about that, he hasn't ceased his outpouring of encourgament and instruction.

Today Dr. Norman brought up the necessity of having Richie talk to the spouses of medical students and residents. His point is that the better Richie understands the demands that I'll encounter, the better he'll be able to cope with them when they come up. His advice comes from a place of experience; he actually was a stay-at-home dad with infant twins while his wife completed her OB commitment with the Air Force - a very demanding four-year commitment.

All told, I need his advice and the advice of people like him. I just feel lucky to have him rooting for me and my family.